


this could be lethal

by averagefaces



Category: 2PM (Band), Korean Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 19:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17473700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averagefaces/pseuds/averagefaces
Summary: Haneul's hard against Junho's thigh; Junho can feel his dick filling in his pants, too, but he's a hundred percent sure his reasons are totally different.Or perhaps they aren't, not so much; after all, when Junho drunkenly whispered he wanted to fuck Chansung seven ways to Sunday and cuddle the fuck out of him afterwards—has wanted to for longer than he actually can remember, has wanted to bring someone home only to fuck them on the couch and let Chansung listen to spite him and make him jealous and see what he's missing—Haneul had patted him on the hip and asked, "What the fuck are friends for if not for that, huh, Junho?"





	this could be lethal

**Author's Note:**

> Published september 2016. Revised march 2017. Reposted january 2019. This is a work of fiction, no harm intended to any parties involved. Please do not repost/copy or translate without permission; you're welcome to share this link. Thank you for reading!
> 
> warning: this fic deals with junho/omc and that omc is kang haneul. also briefly mentioned chansung/liu yan. also unprotected sex.

 

Junho pushes the door open and feels a shiver run down the back of his neck. Haneul is hot on his heels, laughing and tipsy and rosy-cheeked, and Junho lets him hold onto his shoulder for support as they toe their shoes off, both trying to laugh under their breaths.

Why are they laughing, Junho doesn't know, but he bets it's probably very funny.

He chuckles at the back of his throat as they go through the foyer, steps easily onto the carpeted floor, and whispers, "Shut up, I think he's asleep," while holding a finger to his mouth, and Haneul nods, nods like he understands, nods like he's on board and Junho grins, tipsy and loose himself, as he reaches for the front of his jacket and pulls him close.

They both pretend Junho's fingers are steady.

And of course he's asleep, Junho thinks distantly as he noses along Haneul's jaw, it's three in the fucking morning, of course Chansung is sound asleep in his room, under his blankets, warm and ruffled and smelling like soap and minty toothpaste and  _ Chansung _ .

Haneul smells like expensive cologne and day-old sweat, tastes like beer and soju and chips, lips salty and tongue sweet. Junho pushes lightly at him, a gentle thing to make him drop on the couch, and Haneul goes easily, so fucking easy. Junho straddles him, consciously trying to be quiet about it; the gasp he has to swallow down when Haneul's hand sneak past the hem of his sweater, thumbs hooked on the hem of Junho's jeans and fingers splayed over his ass.

Junho shouldn't do this. Junho should pull away and tell Haneul this is a bad idea, a very fucking bad one, should call a cab and send him on his merry way and ask him to please forget what Junho said earlier, forget everything, all of it, never bring it back up. Instead, though, because Junho has learned not to half-ass anything in life, he runs his hands slowly up Haneul's chest, cups them to the side of his neck, thumbs on either cheekbone. He's got nice cheekbones, Haneul does.

They kiss and they kiss and they keep on kissing, and when Junho feels lightheaded enough to pull back a little, mouth and hips still close together, Haneul makes the most beautiful noise, half turned-on and half desperate, mouth parted and slick red. He's loud about it, too, which Junho should appreciate, but can't find himself doing.

Once he's recovered—not that Junho has pulled a very killing move on him, but he appreciates the reaction anyway—Haneul licks his lips and opens his eyes. The living room is dark save for the lights in the patio, only a sliding door away, and its white halo makes Haneul look almost like a ghost, all pale skin and dark eyes. If it weren't for the blush high on his cheeks, Junho would check for a pulse.

"He awake yet?" he purrs, and Junho wants to punch him, he does, but his hands are too busy burying themselves in Haneul's hair.

"You'll know when he is," Junho murmurs, and leans in to kiss him again. Haneul's hard against Junho's thigh, Junho can feel his dick filling in his pants, too, but he's a hundred percent sure his reasons are totally different.

Or perhaps they aren't, not so much; after all, when Junho drunkenly whispered he wanted to fuck Chansung seven ways to Sunday and cuddle the fuck out of him afterwards—has wanted to for longer than he actually can remember, has wanted to bring someone home only to fuck them on the couch and let Chansung listen to spite him and make him jealous and see what he's missing—Haneul had patted him on the hip and asked, "What the fuck are friends for if not for  _ that _ , huh, Junho?"

So if Junho is getting off on the idea that Chansung might be listening, so is Haneul. Junho doesn't know if they should be offended by this or oddly flattered. He's pretty sure someone's ego is being stroked the wrong way tonight.

The thing is, actually, that Junho hasn't planned any of this. He's got a condom in his wallet but it's been there for years and Junho knows better, he does. They're not gonna fuck (at least not properly) and there's no guarantee Chansung will magically wake up and walk in on them, and what's absolutely worse, is that Junho's flying blind here, he doesn't know if Chansung's gonna flip and ask Junho into his room or ask Junho to get the fuck out, Haneul included. Junho doesn't  _ know _ , and he's shit at planning, and this isn't going to work out, he  _ knows _ it won't—

Junho might've not planned this but he made damn sure to get on the couch that faces the patio so that when he got all over Haneul's lap he could have a clear visual of the hallway and therefor the door to Chansung's room, albeit blurred in the darkness, and Chansung could get a look at him but not so much at Haneul.

Junho's brain may be shit at planning but his dick is happy to take over, apparently.

That's how Junho knows Chansung's awake. He's kissing down the jut of Haneul's neck, lips slowly tracing the pulsing skin under his mouth, when blurry movement catches his peripheral sight, and fuck,  _ fucking fuck _ , Chansung's standing there, just outside his door, looking angry and exasperated and tired and disbelieving. Junho's heart leaps into his throat and stays there and he fucking shivers, his mouth stuttering against Haneul's pulse.

Haneul's hand is up Junho's shirt, fingers drifting higher and higher up his side, bunching the fabric in between them.

"Let's put on a show, then," he murmurs into Junho's ear, rubs a circle around Junho's nipple, and the gasp he lets out is fucking indecent, Junho will admit to that.

It's hard to know if Junho's staring into Chansung's eyes and Chansung's staring right back, but Chansung's unmoving, dark figure stays right where it is, and Junho bites at his lip, takes in a big gulp of air, and gets to it because might as well, and all that jazz.

He sits back on Haneul's lap, reaches for the hems of his shirt and sweater and pulls them above his head, throws them to the side of the couch, and lets Haneul put his hands on him while he tries to unzip his jacket, lets him lean in to bite at Junho's collarbone and suck a bruise there that is definitely going to be a problem in the morning. Once his jacket is out of the way, Haneul brings his hands down to Junho's ass, squeezes, and brings their hips closer together and, fuck, it feels good, it fucking does; Junho can't remember the last time he slept with a dude but he sure as hell can't wait to get his mouth on Haneul's dick and the thought of it, the thought of  _ Chansung watching him suck dick _ makes him moan, open and breathless, while Haneul leans in, down, and closes his lips around Junho's nipple.

Junho's pretty sure he could come like this, with a mouth on his skin and Chansung's eyes on him less than fifteen feet away.

Junho's skin around his nipple feels tender and hot when Haneul pulls away to kiss his way up the side of Junho's neck again, and Junho takes the opportunity to paint a better picture, he cocks his head to the side, bares his throat, and catches the tiniest bit of movement coming from where Chansung is through the corner of his eye. That brings him closer to the scarce light in the room, makes his face almost as pale as Haneul's was, except where Haneul was all soft features and dark eyes, Chansung's all hard lines and pursed lips and flaring nostrils and bright eyes, but mostly, what Junho finds both unbelievable and arousing as all fucks is the sight of Chansung's dick hardening in his sleeping pants.

"Fuck," Junho whispers, the hand closing around his dick through his jeans squeezing all kinds of perfect.

"You wish," Haneul whispers back, and then he's squeezing again, laughing against Junho's temple. "Tell me, Junho, who's gonna come first? You? Me? Him?"

Junho licks his lips in Chansung's direction and dips his head to drop his forehead on Haneul's shoulder. He breathes hard for a few seconds, hips moving in tiny circles on top of Haneul's.

When Haneul's hand goes for his crotch again, Junho sits back, wraps a hand around his wrist to stop him, and slides to the floor in a single move, right in between Haneul's spread knees. Haneul licks his lips, smirk wide and bright, and Junho wastes no time with pleasantries, pops the button in Haneul's jeans and lowers the zipper and takes his cock out through the flap at the front of his boxers, licks under the head a little, and closes his lips around it, sucking down in one go.

Haneul wastes no time either, he arches off the couch and his hips push deeper into Junho's mouth, and it's perfect, how Junho's throat just  _ waits _ for it. Junho likes sucking dick, he really,  _ really _ does, and he bobs his head up and down, up and down, starts a rhythm, slow and deep and wet. Haneul moans loud and shameless, like he is about most things in life, really, and Junho looks up at him with a smirk, at the way his eyes are half-way shut and glassy, lips bitten red and cheeks and neck pink and flushed. He's not out of his shirt, but Junho kinda wishes he were, if only so he could twist a nipple between his fingers, make it good for him as much as it is for Junho right now.

Haneul reaches out to bury fingers at the top of Junho's hair and Junho tilts his head a little, lets Haneul's cock slide deeper into his mouth, into his throat, and catches Chansung at the end of the room, chest moving in hard, rapid breaths, hands clenched into fists.

He looks beautiful, Chansung does, all coiled anger and tensing muscles, and Junho wants to pull away from the cock in his mouth just to tell him he'd suck his in a fucking  _ heartbeat _ if Chansung so much as asked, right here and right now. He's sure Haneul would understand.

But since Junho doesn't half-ass anything and he's not a dick even though current events kinda point otherwise, he goes back to the task at hand (at mouth?) and concentrates on getting Haneul off with every dirty trick he's learned over the years, pulls away to mouth at the head, to close his lips around the base and suck kisses there, to hollow his cheeks around the tip. Haneul doesn't last long, either way, Junho's just getting started on the good stuff when there's a hand closing hard around Junho's shoulder and keeping him still, and when he looks up, Haneul's dick slipping out of his mouth, his eyes get lost in the flat, heaving skin of his stomach as he wraps a hand around his cock and finishes himself off all over himself, breath hitching as he comes. Junho watches him, the tight corners of his eyes and the pink in his cheeks nearly glowing into a reddish shade.

He's beautiful, honestly.

Haneul's still stroking his cock even as he murmurs, "That was fuckin' great," and Junho smiles up at him, a lazy tilt to his mouth as he leans up on his knees and then settles back on Haneul's lap. Haneul leans up and catches Junho's mouth in his, licks into it with fucking  _ dedication _ , and Junho can't help himself at it, he makes a noise at the back of his throat and rocks his hips into Haneul's hip, sharp and with intent.

"S'okay, I got you," Haneul murmurs between kisses, and Junho holds onto the back of the couch while deft fingers find the front of his pants and undo the fly. "Lift your hips a bit," he whispers against Junho's ear, and Junho complies, lets Haneul bunch his jeans and boxers down his hips a little so he can wrap one hand around Junho's cock while the other one cups his balls, his fingers tucked into the skin behind them and pressing  _ in _ , and Junho fucking  _ mewls _ , has to close his eyes because it feels  _ too good _ .

Junho forgets to be quiet. It's not like he has to be; Chansung's clearly up. All puns intended.

Haneul jerks him off slow and steady, spits on his palm to make the grip slicker, rolls the heel of his hand against Junho's balls slow and good and perfect, and murmurs, "Make it good, Junho, make it good for him," against Junho's neck while giving him a hard nip.

Junho whimpers but does as he's told, and fuck Haneul, really, because when Junho dares to look up, he finds Chansung's figure slumped sideways against the wall, one fist tucked into his pants and moving quickly over his cock.

"Is that how you like it?" Haneul's whisper is louder, meant for Chansung to hear, and Junho feels a shudder ripple through the core of him as he gasps, " _ Yes, _ that's it," and a groan comes from Chansung's corner, low and quiet but so fucking charged Junho sees stars at the back of his eyelids when he clenches his eyes shut.

And then there's a whimper that doesn't belong to Junho or Haneul and Junho, honest to fucking god,  _ loses _ it.

His stomach drops, drops so hard and so good his orgasm catches him out of nowhere, slams into him and makes him arch into Haneul, makes him come all over his already come-splattered stomach, trying to get as much air as possible into his lungs because it's like the room is a hundred times smaller than when Junho first walked in and all he can think about is Chansung jerking himself off at the sight of him, Chansung coming in his pants like a fucking teenager only a living room away.

Haneul strokes him through the aftershocks and then some more, makes Junho whine high in his throat even as his eyes never leave Chansung's, Chansung's fist slowing down and his chest working slowly for air, and it's like they're breathing together, fifteen feet too many in between them when they could be breathing into each other's mouths.

Junho doesn't know who to hate more, himself or Chansung for not saying anything sooner, for letting each other get this far.

Fuck.

Junho looks away from him and down at Haneul, who's got a dopey smile on his face, eyes nearly closed. He tucks himself back into his pants one-handed, thighs straining with the effort, every nerve in his body singing with lazy pleasure.

"You're a fucking mess," he murmurs when he's done, cupping the side of Haneul's face, hair sweaty at his temples.

"Your fault," Haneul murmurs back, slow and slurry. He drops his hands casually on Junho's waist, thumbs stroking at the dips of his hips, and Junho has the dawning realization, sudden and out of nowhere, that it'd be easy, really easy, to fall for him.

It'd make things much simpler, too— thinking about being in love with Chansung opens a whole different can of worms, one Junho wouldn't want to touch with a ten-foot pole, honestly. Haneul, he's… he's simple. Junho likes him precisely because he's easy to get along with. Chansung is so goddamn complex nine out of ten times Junho doesn't honestly know what he sees in him at this point.

("The heart wants what the heart wants," Haneul had said when Junho'd shared that last bit with him a few hours ago. Junho had felt his heart skip a beat, something like  _ he's right, dumbass _ . He'd only thrown a chip his way in response.)

Haneul pats his hip warmly. "Think I can borrow your shower?" he asks.

Junho nods, swallowing, eyes still on Haneul's flushed face. "Of course."

-

They get their clothes rearranged in silence, laughing a little when Junho nearly falls flat on his ass, and he tries not to feel empty, crushed, like something's missing and broken around him, because he doesn't need to look up to know Chansung's gone, his bedroom door firmly shut, and Junho doesn't know what to make of that.

-

Haneul leaves shortly after four am, hair still wet from his shower, eyes a little bit clearer from the alcohol. He's rosy cheeked and beautiful under the kitchen lights and Junho throws an apple at him with a, "Stay hydrated."

Haneul grins at him and bites into it. "It's not like I had a lot to drink. Just a few shots. I'm more concerned about the pound of fries we had. That's weight that'll be a bitch to lose later on."

"Like you gotta worry about that," Junho huffs, toying with the spoon he'd used to stir his coffee. "You're fit, you have a great body, come on."

"I know I do," Haneul cheeks, "but it takes a lot of time and effort to keep it beautiful. Shouldn't you know this?"

"Ha-ha, you're a real comedian, what are you doing in all these movies and dramas, I wonder."

Haneul laughs under his breath and sets off to finish his apple and they fall into quiet silence. The sky is getting clearer outside and soon it'll be time for Chansung to wake up and Junho, sober now, doesn't know how he'll deal with that when they inevitably run into each other.

He's going to end up in hives over this, he knows.

"I should get going," Haneul says after a while, cleaning his hands on a paper towel. "I got an eight am call I'm not looking forward to at all."

Junho winces. "If I had known—"

"Hey," Haneul puts a warm hand on Junho's shoulder and leans across the table to peck him on the lips. He's smiling gently when he pulls back. "It's okay, I'm the one who asked you for a drink, remember? Besides, I know my lines. And I'm an awesome actor, Junho, you should know this by now."

"Right," Junho says, laughing, "absolutely, yeah. Silly me."

Haneul stands up and Junho follows him out into the foyer, where he watches as Haneul gets his shoes and coat on. Oh, fuck, right, Haneul had  _ driven _ them both here. Drunk off his ass. Jesus, Junho made one bad decision after another last night, didn't he?

"So, last night was fun," Haneul says, once he's got all his clothes on and fixed. He reaches out to tug on one of Junho's belt loops and then he's moving to pull the door open, throwing over his shoulder, "Not the lying and deceiving Chansung, obviously, but the drinks and the food. Let's do that some other time, yeah?"

Junho nods, a bit dumbstruck. "Yeah, sure, man, of course."

"Great," Haneul grins, and then he's off into the chilly morning.

Junho thumps his head against the wall three times before he hauls ass into his room, and then he thumps it some more against his dresser.

ii,

Jooseob walks in at eight-oh-three am and says, "Everything's cancelled today because of the rain. I'm gonna go home before it gets too ugly, so I ask you both please,  _ please _ do not leave this house until it's dry out there, got it? Don't make me repeat myself, or I swear to god—"

He walks out still grumbling to himself, and then it's only Chansung and Junho standing in the middle of the hall, their things ready to go out, jackets in hands and bags slung over shoulders. Junho breaks into a cold sweat at the sight of Chansung standing there, because ever since he stood in the darkness and jerked himself off while Junho and Haneul did the same in the living room, this is the closest they've stood together for a prolonged period of time.

It's been a week and a half. A week and a half of silence and ignoring each other and pretending nothing happened and nothing  _ is _ happening. Junho has even taken to get his clothes and stuff to the second floor's bathroom so he can shower and get ready there, just so he doesn't have to run into Chansung in the morning. And when they have to get back here from the company, he usually asks someone else to give him a ride just so they don't have to sit together in the van.

A few days ago their manager had to get a message to him and apparently Chansung couldn't give two fucks about it because not only did Junho never get the message, he also missed a whole day of photo-shoots and other crap. Junho is not even sorry. Chansung probably isn't, either.

It's a whole situation.

It's so stilted between them Junho can barely look at his retreating back and sigh in relief. The tense set of his shoulders drives Junho  _ mad _ with guilt because he fucked it up—he fucked their friendship up and took it, maybe, a bit too far that night. There's no going back, though, is there? How is Junho supposed to undo shit like that? This is why Junho should avoid thinking altogether from now on.

The pit-pat of the rain on the roof and the windows is annoying as all hell but it masks the storm in Junho's ribcage, thank god. He doesn’t think Chansung would appreciate the extra noise.

He grips his jacket a little tighter. "You had breakfast yet?" They both pretend Junho doesn't sound winded. These are also the first words they've exchanged since. Like, literally. It's  _ so _ fucked.

Chansung's jaw looks like stone. "No. Just had a cup of coffee. Wasn't even that hot 'cause the fucking thing's broken again."

That coffee maker breaks five times a week and they only use it like twice.  _ This whole place is breaking apart _ , Junho thinks distantly, and then shakes it off.

They're going to be stuck in this big old house all by themselves for the rest of the day. Junho can't even begin to think about the implications of that when this is the longest conversation they've had in close to two weeks. He should try, at least, right?

"I'm gonna make some rice. I think there's leftover chicken from a few nights ago. You're welcome to join me," Junho says—pleads, because he's not above that, apparently—dropping his stuff by the couch and heading to the kitchen, his feet dragging because the tension is too much and his every muscle is against this—against them standing so close, even when it's all he wants at the moment.

A couple of seconds later he hears Chansung dropping his stuff too and then his steps as he walks into the kitchen and leans by counter.

The tension is too much. Junho is certain he could choke on it, can feel it wrapping tendrils around his throat and  _ squeezing _ . He swallows past the knot there and opens the fridge to get the chicken out. He doesn't expect Chansung to help and he doesn't offer, either.

Junho is not a very good cook but he can get by. (Back in the old dorm room, Junho once burnt a whole pot of expensive stew meats and he wasn't allowed near the kitchen for a month. He even had to eat in the hall all by himself.) Chansung sits by the counter with his laptop and is answering calls and saying he's stuck at home because of the weather and that if there's something that needs to be discussed it should probably be taken to their manager. Junho heats up the chicken while the rice cooks and then he's getting everything to the table, cups of coffee included because Chansung had still left a pot there and Junho can't function with caffeine in his system, now. Mid-twenties are weird.

They eat in silence, Junho's eyes fixed on his phone's screen where he's got a news app open, and Chansung still clicking away on his laptop. Junho could choke with the chicken any moment now and he's sure Chansung would barely bat an eyelash at him. They don't talk. It's weird because usually they do. Like, about the most random things.

Junho might have harbored many deep feelings for Chansung over the years but first and foremost, they were friends.  _ Were _ . Fuck.

He drops his sticks noisily on top of his plate.

Chansung clears his throat. "Everything okay?"

_ I don't know _ , Junho wants to say,  _ you tell me, you're the one who walked in on Haneul and me getting off and got off too. What does that even mean? _

"Yeah," he says, taking another sip of coffee. "Have you heard from the guys?"

Junho watches as Chansung shakes his head and looks away and back to the screen of his laptop. "They're all stuck, too. Khun and I had to be in China tonight, but I guess that's cancelled because of the weather, too."

"You guys aren't done over there yet?"

"Sort of," Chansung shrugs. "Promo stuff was delayed because of filming so now there's that. But the rest of the cast can do it without us."

"Aren't you guys part of the whole show, though? Like, you're main guests, you need to be there to sale it."

Chansung huffs. "I doubt they need me there to put up a show."

It sounds final and it makes Junho blanch a little. Alright, then, if Chansung doesn't wanna talk, Junho's not going to push it. Whatever. Fuck him, honestly, he's  _ trying _ here. Junho chugs down his coffee and stands up to leave his plate and mug by the sink, and that's when Chansung goes in for the kill and asks, "That's how you like it, though, isn't it? Like you did with Haneul? Putting up a show?"

He sneers—Junho didn't even know Chansung's face could  _ do _ that—and then he's pulling himself from his seat and disappearing from the kitchen and Junho feels the bottom of his stomach drop to the other fucking end of the earth.

Also, his dick twitches in his pants because it's the first time any of them acknowledge what happened—what feels like a lifetime ago—and Junho doesn't know if he's being teased or scorned here and that leaves him as winded as coming all over Haneul while Chansung watched did.

_ Oh, fuck, _ he thinks,  _ oh fucking fuck, this is it _ .

Junho won't have any of that shit. Chansung can't just say sneaky shit like that and stomp off to his room like a five-year-old to pretend he didn't. Like he's been pretending that night never happened.  _ Fuck  _ that.

He drops his mug at the sink and walks down the hall and hovers outside Chansung's closed door for two-point-five seconds before pushing it open with his elbow and a pointed, raised, " _ Listen _ —"

Chansung's sitting at the foot of his bed, the lamp in his desk—suspiciously shaped like a penguin—is on and it's casting a tiny, yellow-ish shade all over his left side, the right one still lingering in darkness. His bed is a mess, like he's been kicking at his sheets in his sleep. He does that when he's stressed. His eyes are already on Junho, expectant, and he looks so angry and so gone at the same time Junho completely forgets about whatever speech he'd jotted up in his mind to put this little shit in place.

It all disappears. All but Chansung sitting in front of him, mouth pulled tight and eyes scorching and  _ expectant _ .

Junho doesn't close the door behind himself. He takes small but confident—hah, he's actually praying his knees won't give out on him—steps towards him and stops short of a foot between them. Chansung sits up and looks up at him, hands on his own thighs and fingers twitching on the fabric of his sweats, already breathing as heavy as Junho is.

He prays he isn't reading this wrong because there's no going back from this. Literally, he would have to move to Australia and change his name if this blows in his face. Junho very much doesn't want to move to Australia.

He licks his lips. "No," he says when Chansung opens his mouth, closing the distance between them, crawling into Chansung's lap, one knee at either side of his thighs on the bed, hands pushing him to lie down and letting his weight pin them both to the mattress. They're both trembling; it's surreal. "Let me show you how I like it."

It's Chansung the one who surges up, hard fingers cupped around Junho's face, and kisses him angrily, like he's trying to punch Junho with teeth and tongue only so he can press gentle lips all over the bruises afterwards. Junho's hands move to the bed, at each side of Chansung's head, and he gives as good as he gets, bites down on Chansung's lower lip, tugs on it with his teeth and moans deep in his chest, and lets Chansung roll his hips up, lets him put his hands on Junho's waist and dig nails over the fabric of his t-shirt to keep him in place.

And, fuck—fuck, this is happening, isn't it? They're actually kissing and those are Chansung's actual hands on Junho's ass, squeezing all kinds of perfect and guiding the roll of Junho's hips over his cock. It's fucking  _ wonderful _ . It makes Junho moan into the kiss again and Chansung chase the sound with his tongue, and suddenly Junho's hands can't  _ just _ be on the mattress, they need to be  _ all over _ Chansung, like ten years ago.

Chansung's hair is soft and it slides perfectly in between Junho's fingers, and Junho uses it to tug his head backwards a little, uses the grip to kiss down Chansung's chin and bite gently on the straining skin of his throat. It makes Chansung's whole body seize up, his hips rocking up hard, his cock still too many layers of fabric away from Junho's. He sighs softly and it's the kind of sound Junho would move to Australia for.

"Come on," Junho says as he pulls away and tugs his shirt over his head in record time. It goes flying across the room and seconds later, Chansung's own joins in. Chansung's hands are warm on Junho's skin as he guides fingers slowly up Junho's stomach and chest, stopping over a nipple to pinch and roll and make Junho harder in his pants, if possible.

"Come on," he says again, reaching for Chansung's sweats to tug them down with one hand while trying to undo his own fly with the other, "get this off, come on," and then Chansung's shaking with silent laughter as he finally gets to work and them undressed and Junho's jeans and boxers fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

He sits up and curls arms around Junho's middle and the world tilts, the whole room tips off its axis as Junho lands on his back on the mattress and Chansung rolls on top of him, pressed close and tight to Junho, gloriously naked in between his thighs. Junho rounds Chansung's hips and middle with them, tugs him in closer, breathless as he pants against Chansung's chin. His cock drags dry and tender across Junho's balls.

"No," Chansung says then, all sweet and dangerous, trapping Junho's earlobe between his teeth and tugging, his hands pinning Junho's wrists above his head, hips rocking like he's fucking right into Junho, the tip of his cock dragging across Junho's hole now, "I'll show you what you  _ really _ like."

Junho moans, his back arching off the bed, the tip of his cock sliding across the planes of Chansung's stomach. "Fuck, come on, yes."

Chansung nips hard on his lower lip as they kiss messily again. He pulls away and breathes hard against Junho's mouth, his fingers tightening around Junho's wrists. "I need to get—" he cuts himself off, dips his head to press his lips to the underside of Junho's chin so he can suck a faint bruise there. Before Junho can stop him and tell him their make-up assistant will bitch at him for yet another bruise, Chansung pulls away and peers down at him. He looks so serious now Junho's kind of afraid he's going to ask if he's sure about this. Which Junho is. A hundred percent. All sure here.

The tension is there, though, and for once Junho doesn't know what to do with it.

"Are you sure about this?" Chansung is shivering a little, their hips still rocking slow and barely-there.

Junho fixes him with A Look. "Are you kidding me? Have you taken a look at the state we're in, Chansung? I'm naked in your bed. Your dick's dripping all over my ass, for fuck's sake. If I didn't want this,  _ trust me _ —you'd know. And so would your dick."

"That fucking mouth of yours, I swear." Chansung huffs a laugh and pulls further away, sitting back on his haunches to slap the side of Junho's thigh. It's  _ hot _ , Junho's not going to lie.

"Where the fuck are you going?" he asks.

"I'm gonna get lube and condoms, you asshole," Chansung groans, disentangling himself from Junho and crawling to the side of his bed to rummage around in his bedside table.

Junho grins. "For  _ your _ asshole, you mean."

Chansung sighs. "That is absolutely awful, please shut up. Stop talking." He rolls back into Junho with a tube of lube and a string of condoms. Junho grins at them and at Chansung's disgruntled face.

"Maybe I should go down on you, keep my mouth busy."

Chansung's eyes glaze over at that and it's game back on, bitches. Junho sits up and rolls on top of him, leans in for a swift kiss, and as he's about to pull away, Chansung's hands close around the back of his neck and keep him in place. Junho shudders because being on top is a thing he actually enjoys a lot more, and he rocks his hips down on Chansung's in time with the thrusting of Chansung's tongue into his mouth. It feels too fucking good—too real.

They're both panting by the time Junho can pull away a few inches. His fingers are curled tight around Chansung's wrists.

"Maybe I'll do that later," Junho whispers, their hips still rocking, sweet and slow and all kinds of perfect.

"You totally should," Chansung agrees, and one of his hands move off Junho to find the tube of lube. He sucks gently on Junho's lower lip, makes it throb a little, and Junho whines, his hips snapping a bit harder. "Hold yourself up for me?"

"I'm gonna be so sore tomorrow, Jesus Christ," Junho wheezes, but plants his knees at either side of Chansung's ribs on the bed anyway, raising his hips a few inches in the air so Chansung's hand can slide easily between his thighs and—

"Holy fuck," Junho pants, his hands bunching on the pillow under Chansung's head, his eyes clenched shut as Chansung traces a cold, lubed finger around the rim of Junho's hole, "warn a guy, damn it, that shit's fucking  _ cold _ ."

"Not sorry," Chansung gushes, and puts his lips on Junho's neck at the same time he thrusts a finger into him and holy fuck Junho's not going to survive this. 

He might have overestimated this whole thing. Chansung's finger is thick and moving slowly inside him, in and out, and Junho pants, looks down at Chansung and finds him staring up at him with heat in his eyes, in his mouth, his lips kissed red and swollen.

He's two fingers in when Junho takes pity on Chansung's neck and stacks a couple of pillows under his head. This gives Chansung the perfect excuse to kiss around Junho's neck at free will, gives Junho enough purchase to lean his elbows on the pillow and let his head hang low and press his mouth to Chansung's ear, moaning and whimpering softly against it whenever his fingers fuck into him just  _ right _ .

He's fucking the third one in and making Junho cry out when his lips open against Junho's throat. "You and Haneul…" Chansung breathes hard, his fingers twisting. "Did you—?"

It makes Junho shudder, in all honesty.

"We didn't—oh my  _ god _ — _ fuck _ —we didn't fuck," he wheezes through his teeth, bearing his hips down onto Chansung's fingers and making him moan for a change. "I mean not before that night and not  _ actually _ —" Junho licks his lips and breathes in deeply, sitting up a little so he can take a look at Chansung's face. "I did go down on him, though. And you know what they say, spitters are quitters."

"You're  _ absurd _ , Lee Junho," Chansung snorts.

Junho grins, clenching around Chansung's fingers. "Aw, babe, you don't even know the half of it," he cheeks, leaning down to lick at Chansung's lower lip. They both shudder at a particularly good curl of fingers. "Do you wanna talk about Haneul some more or are we done with that?"

"All done," Chansung smirks, wrapping his other hand around Junho's cock and tugging slow and painful and perfect and Junho melts into a puddle of pleasure on his lap, his stomach twisting and dropping to the floor when Chansung's thumb circles the tip and then moves to press gentle against the ridge under the head, his fingers in Junho's ass fucking  _ spreading _ and  _ curling _ inside him.

"Oh, fuck," Junho gasps, hips rocking back into Chansung's fingers and forwards into Chansung's fist. There's so much Chansung he can barely think right. He tilts his head and locks their mouths together, both of them panting wetly. Chansung's tongue is licking along the roof of his mouth, his teeth are closing on Junho's lower lip and tugging, sucking it between his own lips, he's fucking  _ everywhere _ and Junho's lungs can't keep up. "Fuck me," he whispers, reaching down and in between them to curl his fingers around Chansung's cock, thick and beautiful and making Junho's mouth water. "Fuck me, please."

"I  _ am _ gonna fuck you, sweetheart," Chansung says in between them, their lips still touching, burning, and Junho whimpers, both at the term and the curl of Chansung's tongue when they kiss again.  

Chansung's still stroking and fingering Junho within an inch of his life, fast enough to take him to the edge but not fast enough to make tip him over, and this is hands down the best sex Junho's had in forever. Ever. He bites down on Chansung's lip as retaliation, hard enough to make him sharply sit up, a moan caught up between his lips, nearly knocking Junho over.

Now  _ that's _ interesting.

"Please," he says again, his words muffled by the corner of Chansung's mouth, his fingers stroking Chansung's cock tight and slow, "please, please, fuck me, do it, fuck me, come on."

Chansung's fingers tremble, his chest heaves. "Condom," he groans, both hands moving off Junho. "I need a condom—"

"Here." Chansung reaches out to get it but Junho's three steps ahead of him here, he's already got the tip of the condom pinched between his thumb and index while his other hand reaches for Chansung's cock. It twitches in Junho's palm and his hips rise off the bed and Junho would give up his left thumb so he could get his mouth on Chansung's dick right now and feel it slide hot and hard along the back of his throat, he  _ would _ . "I am definitely going down on you later," Junho nods his head, rearranging himself on top of Chansung so his hips are astride his and the tip of his cock is barely an inch away from Junho's hole.

Chansung grins up at him. "I'll be looking forward to it, sweetheart."

They're both shuddering again; harder when Junho cups a hand around Chansung's throat and the other around his cock to keep it steady as Junho sinks down on it, only the tip sliding into him. It's a stretch and it burns and Junho  _ loves _ it. His chest feels tight.

"You're a fucking cocktease," Chansung bites the words into Junho's throat, and Junho can't even worry about the hickeys right now, can only think about asking for more of those only so he can stare at them in the mirror later, can only think about Chansung's lips on his skin and  _ sweetheart _ and heat spreading all over under his skin like a fucking wildfire as his cock fills Junho up, a slow inch at a time.

"Fuck, Junho." He sounds  _ awed _ , like he can't believe it's real, and Junho  _ knows _ the feeling, deep in his gut.

Junho sucks in a breath, his chest tight and his stomach dropping and his whole body shivering. It feels fucking ominous, this whole moment. Junho can't deal with it, he can barely breathe. He's thought about this so many fucking times and not once,  _ not once _ , he'd thought it would feel like this.  

Chansung's mouth is close, Junho can feel warm breath against the corner of his half-opened mouth, one of his arms curled over the small of Junho's waist to hold him, and his other hand on Junho's thigh a comforting weight as Junho rocks back and forth a little, raises his hips and Chansung meets him halfway on his way down. He fucks up into Junho and Junho bears down on his cock, their heads dipping so Chansung can lick into his mouth and Junho mewls, dropping his weight forward and letting him do the fucking because honestly his thighs are killing him, holding onto the sheets and bracing himself. Chansung's got his hips pinned with his hands now, Junho's cock sliding hot and wet against Chansung's taut stomach.

"Good?" he breathes in between kisses.

"Yeah, perfect— _ fuck _ —"

Chansung doesn't beat around the bushes. His first couple of thrusts are hard and go so fucking deep Junho feels his teeth rattle. He can feel sweat pooling at the back of his shoulders, the small of his back, the back of his knees. Chansung's mouth is on him, his cock is in him, and everything is just  _ too much _ , lighting Junho up from the inside. He's murmuring  _ things _ , he's telling Junho all he's been planning to do to him and Junho shivers, curling a fist around his own cock, feeling it twitch in his palm.

"You're fucking perfect," Chansung mutters into the expanse of Junho's cheek, his fingers bruising at his hips. "Takin' my cock so perfect, fuck. You fuckin' love it, don't you."

" _ Yes _ ," Junho moans-begs. "Yeah, come on, harder. You can go hard—"

Chansung's teeth are on the skin behind Junho's ear, gentle and barely-there but enough to make Junho curse and shake and break apart. His thrusts slow down. "Junho," Chansung says, still in that awed tone, and the shock comes with his thumb tracing the rim of Junho's stretched hole around the tip of his dick, "fuck, Junho, it feels so good."

"C'mon, please," Junho begs, cupping a hand to Chansung's neck and kissing the corner of his mouth, "please, just like that, please," but Chansung doesn't pick up the pace, he keeps at it, the pad of his thumb dragging slow and teasing on the rim of Junho's hole, his cock barely moving but still making Junho see stars.

Junho's going to  _ die _ . He'll go into spontaneous combustion and it'll rain Junho-bits everywhere. Take that as you will.

"You're not allowed to do that anymore," Chansung mutters under his breath, driving his point with a hard, deep thrust, his fist tight around Junho's dick, and Junho's too fucked in the head— _ heh _ —to ask what even is he on about when Chansung continues, mouth to Junho's ear, breath warm warm and sending a shiver down his spine, "You can't fuck anyone else. No one." Another sharp thrust that makes Junho arch and scream, eyes clenched shut. "Get it? No one, Junho. Please tell me you get it."

"No one," Junho repeats, panting against Chansung's shoulder, fingers curled tight around the pillow under him, "no one, just you, God, just you." His hand closes tight and wonderful around Junho's cock and it makes him sigh in pleasure, grabbing for Chansung's wrist, his fingers slipping on sweaty skin. "Faster," he whimpers. "Please."

"So damn impatient," Chansung grunts.

Junho sits up on his lap, both his hands on Chansung's tummy. "Only for you, baby," he grins down, rolling his hips counterpoint Chansung's and making their breaths catch. He arches his back. "Shit, right  _ there _ , come on, again."

"You're so demanding," Chansung laughs up at him, his eyes crinkling, thrusting hard. "I love it."

Chansung comes with his teeth sunk deep into the flesh of his lower lip and his head thrown back, his hips moving in short and deep thrusts, his hand on Junho's cock milking it for what it's worth, his other hand touching Junho's lips feather-like, and when Junho parts them to tease at the pads with the tip of his tongue, Chansung makes me the most beautiful sound, his dick pulsing inside Junho as he thrusts one last time.

"You're definitely sucking me off later," he says, breathless.

Junho grins down at him again.

-

"You could've said something sooner, you know," Chansung says later, when Junho's lying half on top of him and half off him, idly changing channels on the TV. "Might've saved us a lot of time."

"You never said anything either," Junho defends himself. Chansung's fingers are distracting all along the curve of Junho's spine. He's doing it on purpose. Junho doesn't have enough brain power to play offended.

"I didn't know you fucked men, though," Junho says after a while. Chansung's still breathing hard under him.

"I didn't know you did until last week," Chansung says, licking his lower lip when Junho lifts his head to look at him. "And I don't—it's not like I fuck around often."

Junho's lips twitch a little. "You fucked Liuyan, though, didn’t you? Khun told me you were hardly ever at the hotel."

Chansung purses his lips. "I cannot believe we're talking about this right now. I mean, it's not like I had my dick up your ass ten minutes ago,  _ no _ , that never happened."

Junho huffs a laugh. "Calm your tits," he says, grinning, and pinches one of Chansung's nipples for good measure. "I get it, though, she's hot. You'd been dumb not to. I'm just surprised she was that into you, you're kind of ugly."

"Shut up," Chansung groans. He's laughing, though, and still breathing hard because all this time Junho's been slowly rocking their hips together. He can multitask like a fucking boss, you see. All puns intended.

Junho grins again and licks his lips, touching the corner of Chansung's mouth and watching closely at the shift in his expression, the expanding of his pupils as he rocks a little harder on his lap, Chansung's cock half-hard out of him. Chansung hisses out a breath and his grip on Junho's hips tightens as he rolls into it.

"Come on," Junho goads, leaning in to nuzzle the side of Chansung's jaw, lips and tongue following the trail of goosebumps rising on his skin, "come on, tell me. Tell me how you fucked her."

Chansung's breath catches and his fingers spasm on Junho's skin, his hips rocking up off-rhythm, and Junho bites down on the patch of skin where shoulder meets neck, hard enough to make Chansung moan. It's a beautiful sound.

"Junho—"

"Tell me how you fucked her, babe," Junho says as he pulls away, kissing down Chansung's chest. He sits up and holds Chansung's gaze, smirks sideways down at him, as he lets his lower lip rest on the tip of Chansung's cock, "And then I'll tell you how I'd fuck you."

 

**_the end._ **


End file.
